His First Deal
by Kathryn Claire O'Connor
Summary: Rumplestiltskin wasn't looking for a wife, but somehow a broken teenager becomes not only someone he wants to help, but also his first deal.


**So, originally, this was meant to be the start of a new multi-chapter, but after the mid-season finale I realized the Rumple that would emerge in the story just might be a little too OOC for my tastes. Instead I tied this up into a quick ending with a hopefully-sweet bow on top and turned it into a one-shot... although I may choose to take a crack at the story idea anyway, later. Anywho, in the meantime, enjoy as is!:) **

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><p>Rumplestiltskin wasn't looking for a wife. He wasn't looking for anything – accept for to sell what he had spun that week. After the recent death of the last of the three spinsters who had raised him, Rumple had found his life to be a lonely existence. It hadn't taken long for him to figure out that it was easiest when he left his house to concentrate on the task at hand, not on the fact that everyone around him <em>but him <em>seemed to have _someone_ to share their life with. So that's what he was determined to do as he went around the square, hawking his wares.

Then that filthy old woman grabbed his arm, and he started as she retained her vice grip on him and looked him over shrewdly, declaring, "Ye's a lonely young soul, if ever I saw one. I've got somethin' that'll take yer mind off yer troubles fer an hour – pretty lil' thing she is too!" Disgusted anew as he realized what this old woman was selling, Rumplestiltskin tried again to jerk away from her, but he had never been the strongest of men and she was stronger than she looked. "Just one looksie at 'er and ye'll be more'n willin' t' give up some o' yer coppers fer 'er time," she crooned, her voice and the entire situation making Rumplestiltskin's skin crawl even as she drug him towards her shack despite his frustrated protests.

The place into which he was hauled was little better then a lean-to, and the dust floating through the air was magnified by the scant light filtering in through the rotting wooden walls. Due in part to the darkness, for a long moment, all Rumplestiltskin saw was a pile of tattered red fabric in the darkest corner of the room – and then the fabric moved.

No, not fabric – a woman raising her head. Her black hair had been covering her face where she knelt, on her knees, sitting back on her ankles and trembling in what was left of her dress.

Looking at her cowering there like a beaten dog, Rumplestiltskin felt a surprising surge of anger on her behalf. Before he could process the words, he asked the old hag who had dragged him in here, "How much?"

"Nine coppers fer an hour," the disgusting woman declared, a greedy gleam coming into her eye at the prospect of making money.

Rumplestiltskin removed his own moneybag from the folds of his cloak and rattled it so that the horrid woman could estimate what was inside as he bargained, still not sure what he was doing, let alone why he was doing it, "Everything in this purse in exchange for taking the girl out of here as my own for the rest of her days."

The hag narrowed her eyes at the purse, considering, before she bit out, "No."

"Look at her," Rumplestiltskin tried again. "She won't _live _until the end of the year, and you know it! This money is the same amount you'd make in the amount of time that she has left, so just take it and be done with her."

His stomach turned, speaking so clinically about another human being and reducing a girl to a business transaction – but it worked.

"Fine," the old woman snarled, snatching the moneybag out of his hand and kicking at the girl in the corner, ordering her to "get up."

Anger flaring again at the abusiveness he was seeing, Rumplestiltskin stepped forward – effectively between the two females – and scooped the feather light girl into his arms, carrying her out and away from that horrific woman without another word.

But then came the thoughts. What was he doing? This girl was only two-thirds of his age, meager as that was for the both of them, and whatever he was doing, it couldn't end well. Nothing good could come of this, whatever _this _even was! But what was he supposed to do about it now? She was already his; the deal was done.

Now they would just have to see where it led them.

Once they were well away from the woman's hut, at the edge of the square, he sat down on a rickety bench, setting the trembling girl down beside him as he said gently, "I'm Rumplestiltskin. What's your name?"

It was taking all of the stunned girl's strength for her to stay sitting upright, and even so she still managed it only by leaning over onto his shoulder. At his question, though, she took a deep breath and lifted her head, those eyes like blue lightning meeting his gaze again as she managed in a hoarse whisper, "Milah."

"It's nice to meet you, Milah," he replied, putting a supporting arm around her shoulders as he promised, "You're safe now. I'll take care of you for as long as you want me to."


End file.
